Page 5 of A French Adventure
Inevitably, Vivienne Wilson came into her thoughts and Maxine found herself wondering how the woman had settled in and how she was today. It was too soon to go round and check on her, but tomorrow she’d wander along that way and see if there was any sign of her. She’d check with Olivia too.
This afternoon she was taking a couple to look at a villa near the golf club in Mougins. Afterwards, she might go for a swim down at Plage de la Gravette, the beach next to the ramparts – not quite wild swimming, but the water would be cold andrefreshing – and then, this evening, when it was cooler, she would spend time pottering in the garden.
Houses in the old town of Antibes rarely came with a garden, let alone a garden as large as the one she enjoyed. She and Pierre had both loved the house, but it was the private mews-type street it was situated in and the secluded garden that had clinched the deal for them. The two of them had worked hard creating a tranquil welcoming space where they could entertain their friends on a summer evening, filling it with plants that could withstand the heat of the Mediterranean. These days, pottering around the garden gave her some much-needed solace.
Before Maxine had moved here permanently, the house had just been number seven in the lane, but as she slowly came back to life she’d commissioned a local artisan potter to make her a nameplate that Pierre had designed just weeks before he died. And now the yellow and blue glazed pottery sign with its olive leaves framing the house name ‘L’Abri’ written across its surface was screwed into the old stone wall.
Never had a house been better named. ‘The Refuge’ had been their weekend escape from the city and was now truly her refuge and sanctuary. Maxine smiled every time she saw the sign as she walked towards home. Two bicoloured bougainvillea, white with edges of the palest pink, climbed the front wall of the house, whilst night-scented jasmine in pots framed the door on either side planted with daffodils and tulips that sprang up every springtime.
Inside the house, the kitchen doors at the back opened onto a small terrace with a loggia covered with a vine. The garden proper began in front of this with a stepping stone path, edged with terracotta and granite pots full of snowdrops, daffodils and tulips in spring, replaced with tumbling geraniums in summer, wound its way to the bottom of the garden. A small pergola-type archway overlayed with sweet-smelling blue plumbago coveredthe path for two or three metres, before it finished down by the fish pond with its dolphin fountain at the bottom of the garden.
Maxine loved working in the garden or attending to the pots and the other plants that framed the front of the house, but even now, all these months later, it was always in the garden that the knowledge that she was now truly alone and would be for however long she lived hit her. No family and no one close enough to comfort her and understand the pain she was in.
During the last long nine months, she’d discovered that most people, not knowing how to treat a recently bereaved person, reacted with embarrassment. When you were the walking wounded but with no signs of body damage or physical pain, people assumed you were fine and living a normal life and coping after your loss. But she missed Pierre so much, it literally hurt. Olivia, as young as she was, was the only person who seemed to instinctively understand how she felt, how hard she found living without Pierre. Thierry did, of course, but he was so far away living his own life, that they were both denied the chance to comfort each other.
Vivienne woke at her usual time of six o’clock the first morning in France, but it took her befuddled brain several moments to make sense of the unfamiliar room. Laying there not fully awake as the events of the previous day filtered one by one into her mind, she felt herself tensing at the realisation of what it all meant. The changes that were about to happen in her life, over which she had no control. However much she worried about Jeremy and his behaviour, however much she regretted the breakdown of her marriage, both those things were out of her control now. She had to focus on managing the things she couldcontrol if she was to survive the veritable maelstrom of horrible events that were circling around her, ready to tear her life apart.
Standing under the power shower letting the water pound her body at the highest temperature she could bear, Vivienne thought about her options. She was here for two months, eight weeks in which she could do what she had originally planned – research not only the Jazz Age for her new book and finish writing it, but also begin to trace her family history. But could she also start to try to come to terms with these sudden, unexpected and unwelcome developments at the same time? Or would it affect her writing? She was the only one who could take the tentative steps that were needed to sort out her own life. Concentration was going to be hard to come by, that was for sure, but she had to try to ignore Jeremy’s devastating news, push it to the back of her mind, forget about it and leave dealing with all the consequences until she returned home.
Home. Would it still be her home when she returned? Or would Jeremy have taken the opportunity to move out – or move in his new love?
No, she couldn’t bear to think about that happening. There was only one way she could deal with all this and that was to lose herself in a mammoth session of writing. Everything else needed to be pushed deep into the recesses of her mind to be dealt with later.
Decision made, Vivienne took a deep breath before bracing herself and reaching for the shower control to quickly turn the jets of hot water to cold – a ritual she did every day at home after reading how good it was for the body. Even in this beautiful French bathroom though, the cold water was still sheer agony and she turned it off within seconds.
Once dried and dressed, Vivienne made herself a cafetière of coffee and stood out on the balcony of the sitting room with her mug, looking at the Mediterranean sparkling in the early-morning sun, making plans for the day. The first thing she had to do was find asupermarchéand buy some food and also a couple of bottles of decent wine to give Maxine and Olivia by way of apology. She wouldn’t be able to settle down to write until she’d apologised for her rudeness yesterday.
And that woman on the plane. What was her name? She’d been so kind too. Cécile. She’d scribbled her email address and telephone number on a piece of paper and told her if she ever wanted to chat while she was here to give her a ring, she was a good listener. Vivienne resolved to drop her a thank you email later.
Vivienne rinsed her mug and left it on the draining board, grabbed her linen jacket from the bedroom, put the apartment key in her pocket, found her purse and went shopping.
Thesupermarchéshe found not far from the villa was small but packed with delicious-looking food. A fresh fish counter, a meat counter, a long cheese counter and a patisserie boulangerie full of the most wonderful-smelling bread and tempting cakes. Vivienne held herself in check, realising she could come and shop here every day if she wanted to, so she didn’t need to go mad on this first morning. Today she’d simply buy bread, croissants, pain au chocolat, cheese, olives, cold chicken for lunch, wine and a coffee éclair for a treat.
It was when she reached the cash desk that she realised she’d stupidly forgotten to bring a bag to carry the shopping home in. Thankfully, there was a rack of large eco-friendly carrier bags at the end of the conveyor belt and Vivienne picked two – one with a picture of sunflowers, the other with scarlet poppies.
Back at the villa, Vivienne knocked on the door of the downstairs apartment, hoping to see Olivia. But there was no reply, so Vivienne carried on upstairs to her own apartment. She should have realised Olivia would be out at work during the day. She recalled Maxine saying something about a flower taxi inAntibes? Maybe she’d go back down this evening and apologise to Olivia for her rudeness yesterday. The only problem was she’d intended to ask her if she knew Maxine’s address as she wanted to take a bottle of wine round to her as an apology too, but then, she would probably be out during the day as well.
Vivienne put her own wine in the fridge and left the other two bottles on the side, as she put the rest of her shopping away.
After making herself a coffee and enjoying both a croissant and a pain au chocolat whilst sitting out on the balcony, Vivienne fetched her laptop and phone before making her way up to the roof terrace. Time to start to get organised with what she was here to do.
Her phone pinged as she placed the laptop on the table. Natalie.
‘Hi, darling. How are you?’
‘Fine, but I’ve had a funny phone call from Dad. He wants Tim and I to meet him because he needs to talk to us. Says he can’t tell us what he needs to over the phone. Any idea what it’s about? He’s not ill is he?’
Vivienne, determined not to do Jeremy’s dirty work for him, smothered a sigh before answering. ‘No, as far as I know he’s not ill.’ She ignored the first question and hoped that Natalie wouldn’t repeat it.
‘Honestly, he’s frightened me a bit, Mum. He sounded so down and serious. Anyway, Tim can’t make it on the evening Dad suggested, so it’ll be a few days before we see him. I said I could make it, but for some reason he insists on telling us whatever it is together. Said it would be better for the two of us to be together to hear it.’
‘Have you spoken to Granny Elizabeth?’ Vivienne asked.
‘No. I might ring her later and see if she has any ideas.’
‘Please don’t say anything that might worry her,’ Vivienne said. ‘You know how she worries about everyone.’
‘Promise. Now tell me about your apartment. Do you have a proper sea view?’
